Recollections
by Lerayl
Summary: A collection of drabbles and short stories, based on Radical Dreamers.
1. One through Nine

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, all is Square-Enix's. A drabble is a story exactly one hundred words long - no more, no less.

---  
Wrath  
---

"What the hell are _these?"_ Kid shrieked, hurling the photos of herself - in various unsavory positions - in Serge's face. In her free hand, she seized his collar, preventing his escape, full intentions of violent murder in her eyes.

"Magil! _Magil! _HELP!"

"Where's yer God now, Serge!" Kid hollered, drawing back a fist.

Calmly blocking out the sounds of violence and cries of "oh dear god why" resounding in the background, Magil quietly refilled his teacup and sipped in peace. It was true, he thought in satisfaction. Nothing could be more relaxing than a good cup of Himalayan Chimpanzee.

---  
Memory  
---

They were silent as they left Serge behind. Kid's eyes unfocused slightly as her mind willed itself blank of emotion. She felt a hand on a her shoulder, and looked up to Magil, flashing him an attempt at an appreciative smile.

It hit her with the force of a tidal wave; fragments of memory as vivid as photographs - her hands clasped with a boy's, huddled together and comforting each other in whispers amongst the conspiracies of the palace halls.

Her visions fell apart, and Magil's stony profile was left in their wake. He said nothing.

Kid began to sob.

---  
Beauty  
---

The mask fell to the grass below them, shimmering a pale gold in the moonlight.

Serge stared; he was fairly certain his jaw had dropped. It was the first time he had ever seen his companion's face in all of its stunning beauty. Magil remained impassive, several moments passing before he seemed to notice Serge's dumbfounded silence.

"What?"

"It's just that…" Serge swallowed. "You'd be prettier than Kid…" He considered. "Well, if you had boobs, anyway."

Magil's expression didn't change, so Serge was rather caught off guard when his fist came flying to punch him in the face in answer.

---  
Recollection  
---

"Yer a hell of a shady guy, Magil," Kid observed, squinting at the sorcerer. "One minute it's all 'bout ancient magic kingdoms with you, an' the next you're talking about knowin' the wielder of the Masamune… legendary hero, ain't he s'posed to be? So what was he like?"

Magil stopped mid-step, turning to face her.

"He was…" He frowned, sifting through his mind for the appropriate word. "… green."

"Green?"

"Yes."

"Ah… ha."

Kid looked to Serge, and shrugged.

Hey, they figured, Magil had bailed them out of trouble too many times to bother him about his questionable descriptive abilities.

---  
Dream  
---

Magil was keeping watch when Kid emerged from the tent, disheveled. She looked troubled, shoulders hunched, before visibly attempting to shake off whatever was weighing on her mind.

He glanced towards her. "Something wrong?"

"Aw, s'nothin'. Nasty dream." Kid eyed him. "You ever even have dreams, Magil? Bet not, huh?" She jabbed him playfully in the ribs.

He remained quiet, contemplating. Kid rolled her eyes, returning to the tent and muttering something about choice nicknames involving certain brooding companions. She didn't hear Magil's reply, murmured under his breath as his fingers curled around the ancient amulet concealed within his cloak.

---  
Love  
---

It was a restless night. Serge sat up from his sleeping bag, stealing a glance at Kid, snoring next to him. The moonlight cast a silver frame over her face. He smiled.

"What would you do to me," he mused, hand brushing over the length of her braid, "if I kissed you like this?"

Kid mumbled in her sleep. "Lemme answer yer question with a question, Serge. How much d'ya value yer ability to have children in the foreseeable future?"

"Eep," Serge answered.

He rather enjoyed the lonely confines of his own sleeping bag for the remainder of that night.

---  
Meeting  
---

The door crashed open.

"Yo, Magil," Kid greeted. She had a blonde-haired boy with her, and promptly thrust him ahead for her partner's inspection. "This's Serge. Serge, Magil. Serge's a bard or summat."

"Summat, really," Serge clarified.

"He busted us out from that courtyard, so he'll be with us for now, a'right?"

Magil shrugged, barely looking up from his novel.

Kid, seeing Serge's expression, laughed. "Don't pay Magil no mind. He's brittle, but gets squishier once ya know him."

"Squishier?"

"Aye."

Serge thought he saw the corner of Magil's mouth twitch.

_This's some company I've landed myself with, isn't it?_

---  
Shadow  
---

Watching her through the far window, childish hands fumbling with the building blocks, he'd asked Lucca not to tell Kid about him. He had no illusions about his ability to cut himself away entirely, but so long as he stayed out of her sight and out of her life…

"Why?" Lucca asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He shook his head in silence.

"I think she deserves to know, Janus," she continued, adjusting her glasses with a frown.

He left before she could attempt to persuade him further. Knowing of him, he had thought, was the opposite of anything his sister deserved.

---  
Truth  
---

Kid was having quite a time raiding Riddel's closet. After a while, she seemed to settle on a shimmering violet robe as her favorite.

"Lookit!" Kid declared. "I'm a fairy princess!" She spun around, inspecting herself, before turning on Serge. "What d'you think, mate?"

"Me? Uh…" He frowned, studying her. Magil stood in the corner, expression unreadable. Finally, Serge spoke, decisively. "It'd look prettier on Magil."

Serge was truly grateful to have a spine; there had certainly been little else to break his fall as he plummeted out of the two-story window less than a second after opening his mouth.


	2. Ten through Eighteen

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, all is Square-Enix's. A drabble is a story exactly one hundred words long - no more, no less.

---  
Gift  
---

"This's great!" Kid spun the garment around her body with a genuine smile. "Thanks, mate. Matches a lot of what I've got. I can't believe you've got such an eye fer ladies' fashion, ya goose."

"Well, yeah," he said, grinning, "You think all that work sneaking through your underclothes was for nothing?"

There was a long, terse moment of silence, as Serge realized what had just come out of his mouth.

"I'm going to hurt you now, Serge," Kid said. "I don't think I'll be stopping anytime soon."

All in all, he had thought afterwards, it was just another day.

---  
Disguise  
---

"Janus, I know we're doing this secret identity thing, but it's getting pretty ri--" Lucca stopped midsentence. "What is _that?_"

His voice was flat. "What is what."

"What you're wearing!" Lucca blinked, then started laughing. "On your face!"

Pause. "It's a mask," he answered, making his current opinion of Lucca as an imbecile very apparent.

"Oh, man," she said, "I _wish_ I had something that stylish. Are those _pearls_?"

He walked away. It was four more visits before Lucca stopped giggling at the sight of him - which was quite unconductive towards keeping his existence quiet from her adopted sister.

---  
Combat  
---

"Goblins," Serge muttered, eyeing their surroundings. "It had to be goblins."

"Awright," Kid said, confident, "Battle formations!"

"Battle formations?" he repeated, voice somewhat higher than he'd have liked. "Since when do we have battle formations?"

Kid, however, had already launched herself at the pack.

"Great."

He'd just unsheathed his knife when Magil summoned a circle of flames around the room, incinerating whatever they touched. Kid leapt back, flashing him a thumbs up. Their enemies were promptly ashes on the floor.

Serge looked down, sighed, and made a mental note to bring some knitting needles and magazines to their next battle.

---  
Enigma  
---

Kid scratched her head. "Uh, rainbow's in the what now?"

"The Rainbow Shell," Magil explained, "A priceless artifact that originates before recorded history. It's currently a treasure of the royal family of Guardia. It's said that powerful magical energies are stored within it--even a fragment of the shell would fetch an extremely high price."

Bloke's like a bloody walking encyclopedia, Kid thought, incredulously.

She snorted. "Someday, mate," she said, resting her chin on his shoulder, "Yer gonna have to tell me how you know all this tripe."

"No," he replied, and Kid was startled to see Magil smile, "I don't."

---  
Caretaker  
---

He was at a loss.

The girl he'd rescued had gone through various stages of screaming, beating him, and trying to launch herself back into the mansion, before breaking down into sobs and clutching at his cloak. He cursed inwardly; thirty years of perpetuating cold-blooded murder didn't quite facilitate knowledge of how to comfort a devastated child.

"Lucca," she wailed, and the fabric clutched between her fingers ripped in two.

He laid his hands on her shoulders. "You should rest."

He was no good at this. Perhaps it would come later; but for now, this was all he could do.

---  
Motive  
---

Serge was nursing his black eye when Magil approached, snapping his fingers without comment to create the night's campfire. Kid, presumably, was taking the remainder of her violence out on the local foliage.

"Hooray," Serge sighed, "Warmth." He looked at the sorcerer. "How come she never hits _you?_"

"The more advanced skills humans have," Magil said, "tend to be shaped out of necessity, in some form or another, than any true desire to learn."

Serge blinked, and began responding, but Magil was already gone. He looked around, bewildered.

_Shadow walker,_ he remembered.

Suddenly the world made a lot more sense.

---  
Absence  
---

They sat quietly, Kid hugging her knees to herself. She had so many questions - but no idea how to start.

"So…" Kid murmured, "Why didn't you tell me anything?" Her voice rose, not waiting for his answer. "Wait, no. I can guess. 'Cause you're a _blithering idiot._" And before either of them realized it, her fist connected with Magil's face.

He looked up, startled, hand against his cheek. She gaped.

"Er, well," Kid muttered, flustered and not entirely unapologetic, "Serge ain't here, that's all."

They looked at each other, and shared their first honest laugh in thirteen thousand years.

---  
Resolve  
---

Serge wandered through the forest, searching.

Kid had been right, naturally--once it became obvious he had no idea where the others were, the Porre army had abandoned him. Knowing Magil, those two were safely obscured from any set of human eyes. But he knew, somehow, that Kid's demand for him to stay away had very little to do with the threat of Porre.

Yet without realizing it, she'd become the only purpose he ever wanted from his life.

_"Don't follow me!"_

It was the one demand from Kid that he couldn't bring himself to accept.

He would find them again.

---  
Intuition  
---

It was a typical mission - pillaging valuables from local aristocrats. This particular entranceway onto the grounds involved an underground tunnel, with little room for movement--and so Serge crashed into Kid when she froze in front of him.

"Black wind," she muttered.

"Kid…?"

"We're getting out." She seized him. "_Now_."

As she pushed him, he heard the roar of an explosion--where they had been, seconds ago.

"Move!"

It wasn't the first time Kid had utilized her ominous 'black wind', but Serge was in no mood to question it as they scrambled from the death trap, explosions raining down around them.


	3. Nineteen through Twentyseven

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, all is Square-Enix's. A drabble is a story exactly one hundred words long - no more, no less.

---  
Conflict  
---

"That was too close," Serge gasped, clutching onto the stolen cart.

"Chicken." Kid studied their prize - a jeweled necklace. Serge groaned.

"What were you thinking, grabbing it then? We could've been killed!"

"What!" Kid stood. "It turned out fine! Don't be spineless!"

"If by spineless, you mean _sane. _"

"I'll give you sane!" Kid rolled back her sleeves, advancing. The cart rocked dangerously from her movement.

Magil muttered, "Don't make me turn this thing around--" but his words fell on deaf ears.

The cart was rediscovered later, abandoned, dismembered, and showing all signs of an epic battle contained within.

---  
Irony  
---

It was in hindsight, generally, that life's ironies could really be appreciated.

It was months afterward when he idly recalled the incident. And it took that long to see the _poetry_ in the dreaded leader of the Mystics, the most feared, cruelly ruthless wizard in history - being mocked and called a girl by an underage orphan for taking the time to wash the dishes.

And he began laughing.

Serge and Kid jumped as though a gunshot had fired - Magil _never_ laughed - and he turned away to obscure his increasingly mad giggling.

"Bloke's finally snapped," Kid concluded, sadly.

---  
Powers  
---

Serge was in a foul mood. No matter how much their arguments escalated, Kid had no business shattering one of his very few personal possessions in her fits of rage.

His brooding was interrupted when the flute tapped his shoulder, repaired and in perfect condition. His eyes widened as he turned around. "Magil, you're my _hero--_" Serge moved to hug him, and Magil's quick side-step ensured that he fell flat on his face instead.

"How'd you fix it?" he asked, when he'd managed to sit up again.

Magil looked at him rather blankly, then answered in deadpan.

"I have powers."

---  
Powers II  
---

"Jig's up, you filthy thieves," the guard said, smiling. They were surrounded on all sides - it didn't look good.

"Hah! That's what you think!" Kid shouted.

"Yeah!" Serge agreed, trying to pitch in. "Don't mess with us! See this guy?" He jerked his thumb up at Magil, who looked startled at the sudden attention. "He has _powers!_"

The guards blinked near-simultaneously, and then burst into laughter. Several of them were still laughing when Magil was done sighing in exasperation and got to work putting the lot of them to sleep in a show of soft lights and muttered incantations.

---  
Strength  
---

"You okay, Kid…?"

She'd been quiet since the music box began playing. There was a softness to her that Serge had never seen before. It was strange - he thought she would be more vengeful than ever, being so near Lynx.

"Thanks, mate." Serge felt her hand over his, and something inside him froze. "Thanks fer askin' - thanks for being here."

Even through numb lips, he managed an, "Of course."

She smiled, almost trancelike, and Serge felt his heart flutter. His fingers curled around hers.

Let Lynx come, he thought then-- there's nothing he can do to us now.

---  
Fashion  
---

"What's this?" Serge asked, blinking at what Kid had shoved at him.

"I bought it for you, mate."

He eyed the conical monstrosity. "This, um…"

"I _bought_ it for _you,_" Kid repeated, smiling, but voice dangerous. Knowing better than to cross her, he placed it on his head, yanking the earflaps down.

"It's really… uh, thanks, Kid."

"Bloody right."

"Just…"

"What?"

"Just, it's pretty hot today," he continued. Kid's eyes narrowed. "And it's not really the best kind of weather to be… wearing… well…" he trailed off, as her expression became downright ugly.

The hat stayed on throughout the day.

---  
Ghosts  
---

Serge made his way across the camp. It was a bad idea, he knew, but curiosity had finally overwhelmed him. Magil lay dozing against a tree, mask still obscuring his face. A glimpse wouldn't hurt, would it? He reached out--

And yelped as his forearm snapped back, caught in Magil's vice-like grip. His eyes were cold as he stared Serge down in silence, and a chill went down the boy's spine as he realized he genuinely feared for his life.

Magil released him, and rolled over without a word to continue sleeping.

It was the last time Serge tried anything.

---  
History  
---

They'd stopped by Choras's theatre to see their adaptation of a common legend: that of the hero, Glenn, vanquishing the wicked Magus. It was pretty good, Serge thought. The dashing, windswept knight had just rescued his blushing queen when he noticed Magil.

His shoulders were shaking from restrained laughter.

"Magil?" Serge asked, bewildered.

"It's nothing," Magil said. "It's just that I knew someone who would find this far funnier than even I would."

Serge had no idea what Magil was talking about - but that wasn't really anything out of the ordinary, either. He shrugged and resumed watching the play.

---  
Closure  
---

"I would advise you reconsider," he said, quietly. "There's nothing to see anymore from that era - it's a frozen wasteland. There's little to be done for the survivors."

"I've got to see it," she said, rounding on him. "I've got to see it with my own eyes. This's…" She sighed. "I know you're worried, but it's all right. I won't break. I had before, but I've got these sixteen years now, too. This's just… something I _need _to see. For myself."

He hesitated a moment longer, hearing the desperation in her voice, before nodding and opening the Gate.

---  
Note: Serge's hat is genuinely and charmingly horrific, it really is.


	4. The Incident in Medina

Note: And now for something slightly different.

**I. The Incident in Medina **

"Is that everything?"

Serge looked down at the list in his hands, which sported a long line of items ranging from life-saving medicinal supplies to cosmetics for Kid. The food requested was very specific, some down to the brand - and as Kid had been laying out her demands, Serge had lost count of the times he'd mentally sighed to himself. Well, he knew how he was going to be spending his entire day.

"We're not forgetting _anything?_" he repeated.

Kid's eyebrows quirked in irritation, which Serge knew from personal experience was a dangerous sign. He edged for the door, question abandoned, and jumped as his back collided against Magil. The taller man ignored the motion, opting instead take the list from him, blue eyes sweeping across the paper.

"I don't believe so," he concluded, returning it to Serge. "This should be fine."

"All right." Serge rubbed his eyes. "I'll be back before… sometime. Before tomorrow, anyway. But this means you guys can't take it out on me if we're missing something later, you know."

He knew full well that that would have no effect on the direction Kid applied her rage later on - it was inevitable they would be missing something later. They were _always_ missing something later, usually of which Kid simply made up - at least when it was Serge doing the supply runs - but it felt vaguely satisfactory to make the declaration for the time being, anyway.

"Please exercise caution," Magil said. "Relations are better now between the races than they were, obviously, but there are still whispers of the occasional disappearance amongst human travelers."

Serge gave him a nod before turning and leaving the room. As he descended down the stairs, he caught the attention of most all of the Mystics seated at the bar; even in these times, a human visitor around Medina was considered unusual. Most turned back to their business and ignored him after that first glimpse; the ones that didn't laughed and waved over their drinks. He grinned back, tentatively - and not entirely without wariness, he had to admit to himself.

Medina was, by and large, a peaceful and open place. Serge found that he certainly couldn't argue against the inn's hospitality or the friendliness of the locals. But there were still some fanatics here and there, obsessed with the glory of a war four centuries past-- they were unmistakable, keeping to themselves in the far corners of any given building, and often wearing billowing and oversized cloaks. At times, passing through the town square, he felt the hair on the back of his neck rising, and he swore to Kid later that he could hear the hum of an eerie, ritualistic chant rising just beneath their feet.

Kid had called him schizophrenic and recommended the use of a local therapist; however, when she thought he wasn't looking, he noticed she was looking increasingly uneasy as well.

"Something bothering you, Kid?"

"Taste of magic in the air, that's all," she'd muttered in answer, tapping the side of her nose. "It's to be expected."

Serge hadn't been able to comment, not having the slightest idea what magic might taste like. Instead, he settled for nodding and pretending like he understood exactly what she was talking about. It was a technique he was utilizing more and more these days, and it continued to serve him well.

Magil, for his part, had been largely wordless since they had entered the premises of the town. If it had been anyone else, Serge would have figured that the sorcerer sensed something ominous about their surroundings as well… but, of course, it _was_ Magil. Serge predicted that the day when he would be able to properly read that man was the day he would reach the dawn of enlightenment, and all the world's mysteries would open themselves to him. He wasn't holding his breath for either.

But he really couldn't complain. Asides from his vague, paranoid suspicions of demonic occult rituals lurking in the shadows, Medina offered excellent food, and most of the townspeople they asked for information had been the pinnacles of helpfulness. On one particularly memorable occasion, a local imp had seen through their intentions within five minutes, and point blank asked them if they were planning on robbing Ozzie VIII of most everything he'd owned--and laughed when they'd sheepishly affirmed, giving them the name of a friend of his who would jump at the chance to accidentally look away from guard duty for the benefit of a few coins.

He was jumping to conclusions, probably, based on nothing. Kid might have had a point. The few residents who didn't seem to appreciate his presence seemed to restrict themselves to glaring and muttering from safe distances, so what was the problem?

That was what Serge had been thinking, at any rate, as he was making his way through one of the darker and more ominous streets in the city, on his way back from purchasing the last of the supplies. Kid's preferred type of raisins hadn't been offered at any of the local markets - well, she'd have to deal with it, he supposed. And then _he'd _have to deal with it, because Kid would end up taking her frustration out on _somebody_, and even she wasn't particularly inclined to regularly rough up a guy like Magil.

He'd turned the corner, wondering if he should head back to purchase a face guard or some similar protection before the last of the shops closed, when out of the corner of his eye he saw the movement of a shadow. Serge tensed, and had just turned around when he became acquainted with one particularly friendly local by way of an iron pipe to the back of his head.

He didn't have time to so much as look indignant at his luck before crumbling to a heap on the ground, thoroughly unconscious. The contents of his bag, including the fruits of the entire day's shopping excursion, spilled across the street, abandoned, as the last vestiges of daylight faded beneath the horizon.

---

There was a low, garbled voice behind him when he'd recovered his senses; babbling some nonsense about the glory of the Mystics and its outrage at the human taint that continued to perpetuate in their city--even with his life in immediate danger, Serge couldn't help but wonder is there was any variety in these sort of rabid cultists' thinking patterns at all. Meet one, he reflected, quite sourly, and you've more or less met all of them. He twisted his head around as his vision cleared to get a better look at his attacker.

It was a goblin, old and whose face was considerably deformed - Serge was unsure whether to attribute that to hard living or the seemingly perpetual crazed, manic grin that was spread over his face. He instinctively tried to move his arms, but naturally, they were bound together. A tentative attempt to stand revealed that his ankles were in a similar predicament. He didn't have to check his belt to know that his knife was gone.

"You made your last mistake, human, setting foot here," the goblin cackled gleefully.

Serge began to reply, then thought better of it, trying to better assess his situation. He didn't recognize his surroundings; but from the must and the darkness he made a guess that he was underground. There were blue flames lit in a circle around the both of them, and from the light they cast he could make out the face of a grotesque demon carved into the far wall. A faint sliver of moonlight shone through a hole in the ceiling, falling upon a strange altar built next to his captor. It was clearly ancient; cobwebs were strewn across his edges and it was cracked in several places. Said cracks were stained and filled with a dark red substance; any optimism Serge had left promptly plummeted through his stomach.

Disappearances, he groaned inwardly, recalling Magil's earlier words. That was one way to put it.

"So," he croaked, forcibly calming himself down. Falling apart now would only serve to ensure and possibly hasten his violent ritual sacrifice. "Er… I don't suppose you'd, um, tell me what this is all about? Is this all some kind of, uh, dire misunderstanding with the… racial relations, and, erm…"

His voice petered out and he fell into a very glum sort of silence.

"Your blood shall feed the great Lavos," the goblin supplied, helpfully.

He was already feeling worse and had only understood approximately half of what the Mystic had said.

"Sorry," he managed, in spite of his current difficulties with properly breathing, "Lav's… what?"

The goblin pounced upon the chance to exposit. It was apparent he hadn't be granted the chance to do so to a pair of fresh ears in some time.

"Your so-called victory in the war four hundred years ago merely bought you humans some borrowed time. Little did you know that our great emperor, Lord Magus, fulfilled his greater task, to you cretins' ignorance! His ultimate creation, Lavos, will rise, and rid the earth of your scourge of a race, and your life will be used to speed the fulfillment of the summoning!" His voice was becoming crazed, flecks of saliva flying from his mouth onto Serge's face, who winced.

"That's," Serge began, unsure how to answer without putting his life in more immediate peril than it already was, "That's, uh, great. Really great." His eyes darted around, searching for anything handy that could be used to cut his restraints. There were some scattered rocks here and there with promising edges; if he could get a hold of one of them, he might be able to…

"Rest assured in that you will not be alone," the goblin blurted out, "Your filthy friends that continue to defile our Medina soil have been invited to contribute their blood to the cleansing!"

Serge stopped short, not quite believing his ears.

"You… told Kid and Magil where we are?"

"I did."

"You _told them to come here_?"

"I did," the goblin declared again, eyeing Serge in clear expectancy of fear or horror.

"Oh," Serge said. "Oh, you _idiot._"

And it was right then, as though on cue, that he heard the explosions roaring out behind them, and then footsteps, followed by an alarmed squawk from a distinct female voice. Serge felt a surge of relief, followed by something like apprehension; _hello, Kid, thanks for the rescue effort, please try not to get me messily killed here in your unending quest for violence, because that would sadden me some._

The goblin's head jerked up at the noise, and in an instant had flipped Serge around, crudely fashioned knife at his throat. From his new position Serge could see his friends clearly: Kid, looking somewhere between outright fury and genuine concern - he almost felt flattered - and Magil, as blank as usual, but hands raised in preparation for combat, magic already swirling amidst his fingertips. His eyes flickered briefly to the altar, and lingered there for some time before returning to the situation at hand. There was a wide assortment of battered Mystics lying in their wake, but the goblin didn't seem to pay that particular observation any mind.

"You've come!" he crowed in triumph. "_Three _blood sacrifices!"

"Uh," Serge managed, and felt a bead of sweat trickle down his face. "Hi, guys."

"Serge!" Kid hollered, starting forward, but Magil threw his arm out to block her path. She glared up at him for a moment, but then relented.

"Release him," Magil ordered. The goblin laughed in response, and Serge nearly gagged at the sudden influx of its breath.

"We will be avenged from the humiliation of the war. My ancestors--"

"Ya stupid bastard," Kid snapped, "That's all ancient history! Nobody bloody cares anymore, not even the species yer claimin' to be murderin' for! Open yer damn eyes!"

"So you think, foolish girl! The fated hour will beckon, and Lavos will come!" the goblin crowed, and Magil went very still. "Our Lord Magus will bring him forth, and ruin you filthy humans! That was his promise to we Mystics, and we faithful will be there to laugh as his power reduces you blasphemers to nothing! The great Lavos shall lead this dusty, worthless world to a new age bathed in your race's blood!"

There was a weight to the stillness that followed that bore down on Serge, and he hardly dared to breathe. Something had seemed to stir to life in Magil at the frothing proclamation; a cold fire ignited in his eyes as he stepped forward. Kid instinctively backed away, sensing it as well as Serge did. An ugly smirk slowly twisted his lips, and he slowly began adjusting one gloved hand.

"All right, then," Magil murmured. "I suppose if it's blood your Lavos wants, then it can't be helped, can it?"

A brief flare of the unnatural light he'd long learned to recognize as magic - and Serge had the impression of smoky glass - the air around Magil's hands seemed to distort, bending the light around it. From his stance, it looked as though he were holding a translucent staff.

"Um, Magil," Serge began, but choked as the edge of the knife pressed dangerously into his skin. Wonderful, he thought, panic now beginning to overtake him; he'd expected this kind of behavior from Kid but had counted on Magil being somewhat more reasonable and level-headed in a hostage situation…

The goblin was staring at Magil in utter bewilderment, clearly unable to comprehend the fact that a human was wielding magic before his eyes. Magil snorted, and jerked his head to the right. In a flash, the knife against Serge's throat was torn from its slackened grip and embedded itself into the face of the demon ornament looming behind them, casting bizarre shadows in the wake of the firelight. The goblin flexed its fingers several times in shock before it seemed to register what had just happened, and by that time Serge had managed to twist away from his reach, though not gracefully. His elbows slammed against the corner of the stone altar and he couldn't quite bite back a hiss of pain.

Magil leapt forward, barely avoiding Serge in his charge, thrusting his unseen weapon forward in a sweeping arc.

The goblin's head was roughly a foot to the left of the staff-like apparition's pathway, but he and Serge's eyes both widened as a deep gash appeared on his face regardless. He clutched at the wound, falling back, and Serge narrowly avoided being cut himself as Magil drew back in preparation for his next strike, cloak swirling around him.

"Magil!" he shouted, throwing himself onto the ground. He felt something skim the top of his head, a few severed strands of blonde hair drifting to the ground before his eyes seconds afterwards.

The revelation hit Serge like a brick. _It's a _scythe…

Magil's eyes flickered down to him, and then seemed to dismiss him outright.

He was about to call out again, though he had no idea exactly what he was planning on saying - when Kid grabbed him and yanked him to his feet and out of the fray. He gasped out a "thanks", and she responded by smacking him upside the head and slicing through his bindings.

Wincing as he felt the blood flow return to his hands, Serge turned his attention back to the fight. It was painfully clear that the goblin was badly mismatched; by the time Serge had returned his focus onto them, he was sporting several more cuts ranging from minor to serious at the hands of Magil. He had also re-armed himself, and Serge saw with a slight jolt that he was wielding his own knife, though it didn't seem to be doing the goblin much good.

"You're _human_," the goblin whimpered, a distinct whine in his voice, as though Magil were cheating at some kind of board game. "Humans were stripped of all magic aeons ago-- it's _impossible_… what are you?"

"I wonder," Magil answered, amused. With a snap of his fingers, the blue flames surrounding the ceremonial circle began to snuff out, one by one; enough light remained to illuminate the growing sneer on his face at the goblin's rapidly increasing hysteria.

He reminded Serge of a cat playing with a wounded mouse.

"I've never seen Magil like this," Serge murmured. "What's going on?"

Kid just shook her head, transfixed.

The final flame extinguished, and the only light remaining was what little could filter in from the outside.

The goblin broke, from the fear and tension, flinging his weapon at Magil with a horrific screech - Serge clapped his hands over his ears - and Magil deftly knocked it aside with a wave of the intangible scythe. No sooner than he had rounded the weapon back, the goblin had hurled itself at him in frenzied desperation, hands targetting the sorcerer's neck. Without so much as a flinch, Magil promptly sent its severed arms flying.

The goblin collapsed, shrieking in horror, as Magil closed in.

"No!" it wailed, remaining limbs flailing pathetically, eyes bulging, blood frothing from its mouth. It was a hideous, pitiable sight. Serge felt one of Kid's hands grasp his shoulder, but he didn't turn to look at her. "I'm not ready to go, not yet! Mercy, please! Mercy, mercy, mer--"

"Idiot," Magil cut in, disdainfully, and brought the invisible weapon down on its head. Serge didn't quite manage to close his eyes in time. Judging from the sharp intake of breath next to him, Kid hadn't, either.

It was quiet after that.

At any other time, Serge would have spoken up, protesting his brutality - but for now, he didn't dare say a word. He and Kid stayed quiet, sharing the same uncomfortable silence - a silence that somehow felt entirely separate from Magil's own.

Magil stared down at his handiwork for several moments, before his conjured weapon visibly dissolved in his hands. He rolled his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed.

---

"Hey… hey, Magil."

It was morning now; Serge was largely unharmed from the incident the night before, so he and the others had been peacefully enjoying their view of dawn outside of their window when he spoke up. Kid had rounded Serge off shortly afterwards, cuffing him around the head for managing to land himself in such a predicament, but neither of them had much to say to Magil. For anyone else, Serge had thought, Kid would never be so unsettled by their actions or hesitate to confront them about it - she had certainly had her share of death-matches, and he'd seen for himself that Kid's own ruthlessness in combat was nothing to make light of.

But it was Magil, and there had always been something between he and Kid that Serge had never really understood. At times, Serge suspected that Kid didn't quite understand it, either.

Magil's voice, quiet and neutral, roused him from his contemplation.

"What is it?"

Serge looked at him sidelong. It'd be good to thank him for saving his life, really - but somehow those words wouldn't come.

"You're a… pretty weird guy, you know that?"

The glow of the rising sun reflected oddly off of his mask as Magil inclined his head, just a little. "I suppose."

Well, at least he wasn't denying it. Serge surprised himself by managing to smile.

---

Robbing Ozzie's home had been a fairly standard, unremarkable procedure. The little security he bothered with was generally either incompetent or easily bribed, just as their impish informant had told them, and a casual incantation from Magil quickly dealt with any of the others. Kid had to be physically restrained by both of her partners from attempting to strip down the entire place; in the end, they had taken eight or nine particularly valuable jewels and artifacts and called it a night. For the light load, it would get them through the next several months, at any rate.

"Could've taken more," Kid sulked, scuffing the bottom of her boot against the ground. "Could've taken _lots _more."

Serge laughed ruefully, rubbing the back of his head.

"I believe a ship will be leaving for Truce fairly soon," Magil said. "Let us not miss it. I expect it won't take Ozzie long to find and track down his thieves, based on our descriptions."

"Not like we couldn't handle him," Kid scoffed, "But if you say so."

They'd safely stowed away in the storage area and had been sailing for around twenty minutes when Serge felt his stomach let out a lurch that had nothing to do with seasickness.

"When was the last time we ate?" he muttered, shifting his weight in discomfort.

"Whiner," Kid mocked, laughing, and reached into her bag. "Nah, I think we're all feelin' it, really. Hang on, I'll getcha somethin'." Her cheerfulness was quickly replaced by a puzzled frown. After a minute of searching, she grabbed the bag in its entirely and turned it upside down. A few clumps of dust fell out, each carrying the weight of a funeral dirge.

Kid's eyes moved from the dust back up to Serge, who swallowed dryly and offered her a strained grin.

"Serge, you arsehole! You forgot our supplies!" Kid shrilled. "What are we supposed to do now, ya bloody moron! And after we went through that list so many damn times-- that's _it!_"

He wished dearly now that he had taken the time to go back and purchase that face guard.

By the time Kid was finished pummeling him and had stormed off - which was quite a while later - Serge was sputtering and trying to peel himself off the floor. He supposed there was a silver lining; the punches to his gut had effectively made him forgotten the fact that he was ever hungry. From the corner of his eye, he saw Magil draw close to him, expressionless.

"I don't know how you can just stand there when she's yelling like that," Serge muttered, wincing, rubbing his palm against the side of his head.

"It's a useful little spell," Magil said, pulling him up. Serge was startled - Magil rarely, if ever, talked about the nature of his magic, preferring to simply let the results speak for themselves. "A personal invention of mine. It allows me to hear everyone around me as bees."

Serge looked at him. Magil looked back.

"… boy," Serge sighed, after a long moment, "I wish I had magic."

He thought he saw Magil smile a little under his mask in response. It was a strange smile, oddly gentle in the manner of a person who didn't quite know how to be gentle - and Serge had never noticed until now, since the incident in Medina, how truly alien it looked on what could be seen of his face.

"You know," Serge said, "Being around you and Kid makes me feel extraordinarily uncomplicated."

Magil's eyes flickered.

"That," he said, "isn't something I would spent much energy lamenting over."

As the boat docked on the shores of Truce, Serge thought to himself that it looked as though things were returning to normal. It seemed like they always did, somehow, no matter what happened.

---

Notes: Just a short little story I spat out regarding a day in the lives of the Radical Dreamers. I fail at writing action scenes, but ah well.

I love Serge. What I would for Radical Dreamers Serge to replace Chrono Cross Serge, for serious.


	5. The Meeting in Porre: Part One

Notes: And now for some _melodrama._

**II. The Meeting in Porre**

They visited what remained of Lucca's home every year.

She had asked, the first anniversary; Magil had complied near-wordlessly, as he did with just about everything. The years after that she hadn't needed to say anything, and once she'd even completely failed to realize what their destination was until she found herself on the doorstep of the place she'd once considered her home.

Only the house and the people who had lived there had been destroyed. The apple tree they had hung the swing from was still there - though the rope was decaying, now, for not having been replaced in so long. There was still the patch of garden in the back, overtaken by weeds. And there was still the taste of the sea on the breeze. Enough was the same here that taking the last step off the land bridge felt as though one were literally crossing into a dream of a memory long past.

Magil never said anything and Kid could never tell what he was thinking. That was always the case on some level, granted, but somehow during those times he managed to make himself even blanker to the outside world than usual. Kid herself, on the other hand, had nothing to hide - the first year, she'd cried, and the following years after that, she'd raged.

This year she didn't quite do either. There was still the skeleton of the old house, and if she closed her eyes she could still feel the warmth of her old blankets and smell the waft of Lucca's breakfasts in from the kitchen. It defied all logic that any part of the building should still remain standing; she ran her hands over one of the banisters in something like wonder.

In her mind, she knew somehow that things would remain like this - frozen - until things had been settled with the man who'd destroyed everything. It was like an oath bound between her and the house - until then, they would force themselves to remain upright no matter what would happen. It was only then that they would allow themselves to break.

Magil gave her as much time as she needed. He always did, staying back, knowing that this had never been his place and his intrusion would almost be something of a violation onto what Kid considered sacred ground.

She said a few words to the site, to Lucca - ripped off some folks, but corrupt arseholes, you'd have laughed when you saw their faces when their precious trinkets were gone, sis. But don't you worry - I haven't sunk low enough to rob the people who actually need what they've got. Magil's as bloody thick as ever - did you really know him, sis? Another twelve months gone by and another nothing. Thirteen now, you see. I can almost handle myself in a fight, same way you always claimed to.

This year something would change - something would _happen._ Perhaps this is the year that the skeletons here would finally receive their answer. She felt it within her blood, stirring; her fingers wrapped loosely around the egg ornament hanging from her neck.

She crouched there for a few more minutes, head bowed, before standing and beginning to make her way back to the bridge, to the remainder of Truce. Magil rejoined her presently, neither of them speaking a word. It was, as usual, unnecessary between them.

---

Two years ago, she had point-blank demanded that Magil teach her how to fight.

He didn't answer her at first, settling for brooding and looking vaguely troubled. To anyone else he never broke his picture of stoicism-- but Kid had learned to read him over the years; interpreting that subtle tension in the shoulders and weighted silence as well as if he had begun screaming.

Kid sneered at him. "What now? I'm gonna end up goin' after that bastard some day or another, whether you like it or not, and you've known that from the beginning. Might as well teach me how not to get myself killed, 'cause it's gonna happen whether I know the ropes or not."

She meant every word, and they both knew it.

Magil had agreed after that, and Kid felt a vague twinge of something - regret, maybe, for putting him through something that obviously bothered him - but she'd shoved it aside and let it lay ignored for the remainder of her life. There wasn't a hell of a lot much that was higher on her priorities than avenging Lucca's death, and whatever feelings Magil might have had under that mask wasn't one of them.

A few days later he had armed her with a knife, emblems carved into the hilt--the mark of some old, forgotten legacy. She never bothered asking where he had gotten it. As soon as it had exchanged hands, she'd demanded they start. Magil seemed to have seen that coming. Kid watched him as he produced his own dagger, considerably less ornate than the first.

It was still in the cold season; the frigid metal of the hilt of the blade bit into her fingers even through the fabric of her gloves. There was tension waiting to explode in her limbs; the world seemed to shift, strangely--to focus in differing hues, facing an armed opponent with your own weapon.

She refused to blink, or to falter, or to give voice or acknowledgment to this unexpected and unwelcome mixture of feelings. This was what she'd been waiting for.

"Ha ha," Kid said, the laughter sounding more forced than she'd have liked. This was no time for a jolly bout of self analysis, either. "Apologizes in advance if I end up guttin' ya, mate." She flashed him a grin.

Magil shook his head, the picture of relaxation. "I'm afraid," he said, "that that possibility is the least of my concerns."

"Arrogant bastard, aren't ya?"

"Perhaps. Your stance is off - you have no chance of deflecting a blow properly with that grip. That second delay in having to flip your blade could be fatal."

She snorted, but adjusted her grip accordingly. Magil began walking in slow circles around her, taking her into consideration. After about three and a half rotations of this kind Kid had grown sick of it; what she'd thought was a surprise attack as Magil had stepped to her right turned out to be deflected easily; Magil's eyebrow quirked as the daggers clashed together, the metallic strike reverberating unnaturally to Kid's ears.

Her surprise at being shrugged off so easily cost her a quick, openhanded strike to her stomach - not enough to hurt, exactly, but enough to make her lose her balance; she stumbled back, barely remembering to keep her weapon up. Magil made no further move to attack. Stupid mistake, she thought to herself, completely forgot his other hand even existed--

Before she'd completely regained her composure, she swiped the knife upwards, against her face, recklessly - a part of her knew she might have cut him open, but in her frustration didn't care - but Magil simply tilted his head slightly in one direction, and not so much as a hair on his head disturbed. Another blow from his free hand against her wrist; the knife fell from her fingers onto the grass.

"You're far too open," he said, not quite looking disappointed at her sloppiness. "I could have broken through your guard at any time and deliver a fatal strike, if I was so inclined."

"Bully for you," she'd snarled, and lunged at him-- he sidestepped her without effort and in one motion had flipped her onto her back against the ground, doubled over and gasping for air.

"You see?" he asked, backing off to give her some space to regain her breath. The barest flicker of amusement in her voice filled her with just about enough righteous fury to disintegrate him with the power of her mind. Not quite having regaining her balance yet, she forced herself back onto her feet.

"We're goin' again," she snarled, tossing her hair out of her face.

Twenty seconds later, she again found herself unarmed and trying to regain her breath on the ground. It had taken Magil even less time to take her down than in the first round.

But she learned. As the days went by, she began to last longer in their sparring matches, and there was one time she actually managed to surprise him - her fist hadn't quite managed to connect with the side of his face, subverted by his forearm, but he'd been _surprised,_ and that was what counted.

She knew that she'd never be able to defeat Magil, even disregarding his magic, if he ever took her seriously. There was simply something that separated the two of them from each other fundamentally, the sense and flavor of blood and combat and death that hung around Magil's past that any eleven year old girl couldn't bother to comprehend, much less try to match. Kid understood that. So that momentary surprise had been enough to keep her cheery and keep her mocking him for nearly two full weeks.

---

It had been so _easy._

She figured it had been the woman's own fault-- walking out in public like that, her riches hanging off his body, for any-bloody-one to see! Kid's stomach had flipped, twisted, strangely, in something like nausea, upon seeing her-- it was _grotesque,_ seeing these noblemen and their ladies in their pretty dresses parading around the streets for the beggars and the starving to awe. Their smug superiority was as tangible as the jewels hanging off of their bodies, rustling elegantly in the breeze as they passed.

She couldn't stand it. These people, who thought the world was their for the taking, that they were _entitled_ to something. Aristocrats who swung their money and power around to move the world at their behest, to burn down poor orphanages and massacre children and pay nothing for it. Lost in her concentrated hatred towards this nameless target, her feet had practically begun to move on their own.

On the first pass, she'd managed to pocket the emerald brooch the one particularly snooty-looking lady had hanging off of her numerous scarves. A rush of blood had stormed her senses. It couldn't be this easy, and yet, she could see the reflections the small jewel cast off of the alley walls in the sunlight. She hadn't even _noticed_ missing what so many commoners would have killed one another to possess. It was disgusting.

And suddenly, it wasn't enough. She had to do more.

On the second pass, she noticed the woman speaking to one of her sloppy guardsmen-- had she realized one of her gems had gone missing? --but no, she was making small talk about the weather, and the current state of politics between Zenan and Medina. The guard was nodding like a trained dog, looking for all the world like being on the receiving end of the broad's chatter was the exciting pinnacle he had been waiting for his entire life.

_What bullshit._

The weight of the dagger at her side felt unnaturally heavy. She didn't think twice about it. She was still small enough to evade the sudden, alarmed flailing the guardsmens' limbs, to slide under their grip-- was it possible for this kind of thing to come so naturally for a person? She felt lightheaded, like water and fire all at once; flashing intangibly amongst a bunch of dumber, baser creatures trying to storm their way through mud. The sensation of soft cloth between her fingertips almost grounded her again; she twirled away in an insane sort of dance, laughing uproariously at the guards trying to give chase.

She had the advantage of agility, and the advantage of a crowded street, dotted with at least a dozen other girls with braided blonde hair and a dozen more with red coats. The guards shouted and clumsily fumbled their way through the barrier of humanity. She'd already escaped.

---

"You were lucky to leave there alive," he said, a note of genuine anger backing his words.

"Cry about it," she snapped back.

The scarf tore into two between them; the jewels embroidered into its seams scattered around them like a broken jar of buttons. They glared at each other, each bundling their strip of torn fabric in their fists--but Kid was the one who stooped first, breaking eye contact, to collect the valuables.

"They're idiots, Magil," she muttered, holding a sapphire against the sunlight. "It was like picking candy off a baby. It's not like they worked a day in their life for it, not like they'll miss 'em--what's your bloody problem?"

She already knew, though, and he understood that she knew without him having to verbally answer. Magil didn't give a whit about any poncy noblemen or their stupid valuables. It was her she was worried about. It had always been her. It was maddening.

Kid curled her fingers around the gem. "Look, mate, this is what I want. We get by, see the world… I pick up what I need when the time comes to take down Lynx."

The statement surprised even her, and they both reacted it in their own ways; Magil's fingers twitched, subtly, obscured under his cloak; Kid's head tilted to the side as she frowned, brow furrowed. The act of theft had been completely impulsive at the time, but mulling over it now, the thrill of it wasn't something she was bound to forget soon. She wanted more. She could argue necessity and practicality to herself and to Magil all she wanted, but that was what it was in the end.

And then there was Lynx. Of course it came down to Lynx. It always did.

"I won't stop you," Magil said, "But neither will I allow you to take further unnecessary risks on your own."

"Whatever makes you happy," she snorted, and tossed him the jewel in a gesture of unspoken contract.

---

They were the Radical Dreamers from that point on.

Kid had suggested the name, only half serious, joking over a tin of aging pork and a few scraps of egg. When Magil hadn't protested - or even reacted at all, really - all of a sudden that name began to spread like wildfire across the local populace, as though it had a life of its own.

She remembered weeks afterwards, through the haze of a half-formed, scattered dream, that Lucca had described her friend, once, as a radical dreamer - someone who bore the world's weight on his shoulder with a smile and a friendly shrug. Kid had theorized, with a wide-eyed childish sort of insight, that she'd been a little bit in love; Lucca had laughed her off and sent her back to her building blocks without a fuss.

It was sheer, maddening coincidence that they had been in the Porre region at all when they had started to hear the news. In the first few months, traveling together, through tantrums and arguments and one painfully memorable incident of physical restraint, Kid and Magil had come to an understanding that Regiorra was _off limits_ as far as destination went. One half of Kid, a quieter, wiser half, understood, regretted that such measures had to be taken to keep herself from destroying everything Magil had fought so hard to protect.

But she was not accustomed to listening to that half, and it was only with a great deal of sullenness that she complied with their silent agreement. Magil let her decide most everything - their next targets, what they would spend their money on, where they would stay. He would raise quiet objections, always with his bloody logic and clear-headed rationalizing - but it did not take Kid long to discover that so long as she pushed hard enough, there was very little he wouldn't relent on in the end, albeit with varying degrees of exasperation.

The only real exception was that of Regiorra. It wasn't a city anymore - no one lived there, so much as _existed_ there, except Lynx. The idea of the residents, people living in the streets and going about their business and being wholly ignorant of one of their aristocrats' work only a few years ago to murder a young women and the children she cared for - they were barely phantoms in her mind's eye.

Regiorra. Lynx. They were one and the same, and they were _forbidden,_ at least for now-- that was the only real demand, besides staying alive, that Magil placed on her, and she resented it with everything she had.

But she'd been willing to obey. She liked to think herself as generally reasonable most of the time, whether it came to Regiorra or Porre or anywhere else. Magil often begged to differ, but it was one of many subjects upon which they were simply forced to agree to disagree. Loudly, on Kid's part.

But all of that went out the window when they had heard the news.

She'd thought the world had frozen for an instant when she processed what the village crier had announced--and realized afterwards her heart had simply jumped a few beats. The esteemed Lord Lynx of Regiorra would be arriving in Porre to negotiate trade sanctions between the two regions before the matter began to erupt into border skirmishes. That's what it was formally, at any rate. In reality most everyone knew a deal had already been struck between the governors of the two precincts and Lynx's arrival was a mere formality.

A formality, however, that involved the passing of the Frozen Flame, Porre's sacred treasure, onto Regiorra and therefore onto Lynx, as a gesture of friendship between the two.

Kid's reaction to this information was immediate, loud, and unfortunately, very public. They'd turned several heads and earned many stares by the time Magil had threatened to hit Kid with a silencing spell before she managed to get them both arrested. She clamped her mouth shut forcefully until they had retreated from the outskirt village, Magil half-dragging her.

The same words where spinning through her mind the entire time. Porre. Lynx. Flame. _Lynx._

They all came out in a flurry of nonsense when Magil stooped down to start their evening campfire near the forest. She doubted Magil could actually understand what she was saying, rushed and garbled as her message was, but he seemed to catch enough of the gist of it anyway.

"Absolutely not," he said.

"Absolutely _yes,_" she countered.

They went on like this for several minutes, until Magil threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Will you think this through?" His annoyance was coming through in his tone, hand still suspended upright in the air as though to physically ward off Kid's badgering. "To provoke not only Lynx's ire, but that of Porre's and most likely the visiting governors come to bear witness to the event - blacklisting would not begin to cover what would happen to us. The security will be airtight."

"I don't _care_," Kid snapped back. It was her standard retaliation against any of Magil's reasoning. "As long as I get at Lynx, none of that matters! For him to get his filthy hands on something Lucca treasured…!"

"I would imagine," Magil answered coolly, "That Lucca would have valued your safety over that of the Flame."

She scowled, not having an answer to that and hating herself and everything around her for it.

"I'm going," she said flatly. "With or without you, mate."

"_Enough,_" he said, standing, and his demeanor changed in an instant - something jarred within Kid, her understanding of the world around her unable to cope with the change in her quiet shadow guardian - this was another person standing before her, black fury encompassing his expression. His patience had run out - it was the first time she had seen it in a long, long time.

"I won't hear any more of this."

She opened her mouth, but found her voice useless against the stranger before her. It flopped in a humiliating sort of way before she turned and fled through the woods, unable to stand the sight of this thing that had suddenly taken the shape of Magil or her own inability to stand up to it.

She'd nearly managed to run straight into a river before she caught herself, caught up in her own whirl of emotions, clashing furiously against each other and painting the world around her red. She flung herself against the ground, biting back a scream of frustration.

_Bastard!_

What was he good for, anyway, besides making with his usual posturing and worthless advice? As though he thought he were her mother!

Her rage against Magil turned deadly, as her fingers scrabbled uselessly against the dirt -- stupid, buggering, selfish fool he was -- what business of his was it, anyway, it wasn't as though he cared, some stray magician wandering in and taking her in as a pet charity case -- well, she would tell him where he could shove _his_ charity, right enough--

And what a fool _she_ was, for trusting him out of the blue, even in the midst of hysteria and grief. A masked rescuer, sweeping out of nowhere and converging with the shadows to tear her away from the only purpose she had left in life.

---

It was several hours later when she'd rejoined Magil, who hadn't moved off the spot, equipped with her anger but victorious in her struggle to contain it, briefly. He didn't raise his head, but began speaking immediately, cutting her off before she had even begun.

"I understand," Magil said, his words honed and bearing the weight of careful consideration, "Your desire for revenge. Likely more than you'll know in your lifetime."

There was a chill to his words, one that sent shivers down Kid's back. She kept listening.

"You can be sure that if I had intentions of stopping you from taking your vengeance, I would never have allowed you to take the steps you have towards preparing for it."

He looked at her now, the glow of the firelight glinting off of his mask.

"But I want you to understand something I had forgotten. I was consumed by it."

His gaze was firmly set on her. He was treading the line between those two worlds that had split him into two halves before, his voice possessed by neither and by both. Kid felt as though a hole were being seared through her under the force of it.

"I had… lost sight of what I wanted to protect."

They locked stares once again, both sides heavy with silence. It was the most horrible thing she had ever experienced, Kid thought; it was like being thrown screaming back into the fire again. It was weighted with the remembrance of death and the promise of _regret,_ regret which she was more terrified of than death; regret that she had been fighting against her entire life. She felt herself being suffocated, as though coils were being wound around her throat.

In desperation, she broke it forcefully, the pebble flew from her hands against the side of Magil's head with a thunk. He barely reacted, but the spell had been broken.

She breathed again.

"Well, great," Kid said, exhaling deeply. It took her a few seconds to remember what Magil had actually said. She sat down on the other side of the campfire. "That's a nice little story, Magil, but I'll fill you in on something in case you've missed it: I haven't got anything left to _protect_."

Magil was silent.

_See,_ Kid thought vindictively, _even you haven't got anything to say to that._

But by the time she had begun to lay down, he had spoken up again.

"I thought the same thing," he said, "For a long time. That very conviction was what led to my mistake when the time came."

_When the time came?_

"Look," she said, uneasily, extending a hand in his direction. "We'll make a compromise. We go to Porre, we break up this poncy-ass ceremony, but for one reason--gettin' the Flame out of Lynx's hands. Nevermind takin' his life, at least at this juncture. There's always tomorrow for that." It felt like bile being spewed out of her mouth. "But the idea of Lucca's treasure fallin' into his dirty hands… I can't take that thought, Magil. You can understand that much, can't ya?"

Magil's head turned slightly; he was considering her words.

"Just the Flame, then?" he repeated.

"Just the Flame." To emphasize, she clapped her hand over her chest. It wasn't quite an oath.

Magil hesitated, then nodded. What Kid felt then wasn't exactly happiness, or even relief - it was a sort of wild vindictiveness that nearly frightened her.

"The ceremony takes place in two days," he said, suddenly sounding very weary. "We'll plan our course of action tomorrow, when we secure lodgings in Porre."

Despite the opportunity she had secured in the face of Magil's overbearing tyranny, as she tried to lull herself to sleep, she found it was surprisingly difficult to hold onto that sense of giddy triumph. It kept sliding from her mind's grasp to make way for recollections of Magil's somber warning and the rare allusion to a bloody past.

That very conviction was what led to my mistake, he had said.

Kid rolled over, pulling the blankets over her eyes. Magil had no idea what he was talking about.

She had nothing.

---

Porre, where the mingled scent of oil and freshly-baked bread was never far away; it was a hell of a contrast to the sleepy village of Truce. Porre was the industrial center of Zenan - something was always happening there. Taking action in Porre always meant setting off an unpredictable chain reaction, with no one having any idea who you would anger or ruin in the end.

They were there fairly often; lots of business meant lots of interested aristocrats, and lots of aristocrats meant a lot of priceless valuables to swipe. Their familiarity with the area meant it was relatively easy to find a decent inn to crash at for the next few nights.

This plan was risky for them, and nigh impossible for anyone else--they were walking into this with little to no intelligence as far as the proceedings of the ceremony or even the layout of the mansion it was taking place in, which was practically unheard of for such a high-end operation.

The key was Magil - she had never bothered to question how it was he was able to wield magic. A few nights, faced against the darkened sky above her, she supposed she'd idly theorized that there might have been a Mystic somewhere in his bloodline. It was really the only plausible explanation - other magic-wielding humans were known to pop up, now and then, always a rarity and a source of stigma for the ordinary folks around them, and it always came back to their ancestry.

But she knew, somehow, that Magil had nothing to do with any of that. It wasn't something she could explain, exactly - it was simply a dead certainty, a settled feeling deep in her gut. Magil was Magil, and his communal with the shadows of the world simply _were._ It was strange to imagine him having any kind of family at all, much less going to the extent of talking about family trees or any of that rubbish.

Whatever the reasons and the history behind him, Magil ensured that the Radical Dreamers' success - where an escape route would have been blocked and under watchful eyes for anyone else, it was a matter of a few bored, enchanted words from him and they could have danced in front of the watchmen without a worry. (Kid had tried this once, actually, but Magil had rather forcefully stopped her before it could go particularly far.) There were very few guards that existed in the world who knew how to deal with a masked man who happened to know how to throw fireballs.

The Frozen Flame was a treasure of Porre - perhaps the most precious treasure. There'd been countless thieves who had tries to break in and steal it, though it seemed a foolish notion to do so - any attempts to make profit on it would be discovered on the spot - and it went without saying that most, if not all, of them had met rather painful, bloody ends.

But they didn't have Magil.

Kid smiled, rolling up her sleeves as she gazed at the ceiling. It was time to get to work.

---

Notes: Next episode, the third half of the Radical Dreamers makes his dramatic debut. Whackiness, as you may imagine, ensues.


End file.
